


Making Memories Where None Exist

by Nyxcatti



Category: BioShock Infinite
Genre: Action/Adventure, F/M, Friendship, Love, Romance
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-06-08
Updated: 2015-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-03 21:01:47
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,371
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1756935
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nyxcatti/pseuds/Nyxcatti
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Lutece twins have discovered a whole new layer of inter dimensional relations. A new layer that may give Booker and Elizabeth the chance to live a normal life. But they need a variable. And that just so happens to be you. Will the Luteces be able to control the dimensions once they cross these new boundaries? And more importantly, will you be able to control yourself around Booker?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Peculiar Mondays

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Mothra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mothra/gifts), [kaitatatertot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kaitatatertot/gifts).



> Okay, for the sake of character point of view, I have filled in the physical details with my own. They will not affect the storyline, so please feel free to pretend I wrote blonde hair instead of dark, or whatever. It's just hard to envision the world from an average height when I'm 6'1"… lol.
> 
> Anywhere you see a *, is an actual self-defense/combat technique taught to me by a certified instructor. It never hurts to be prepared, ladies. And the classes are super fun!
> 
> Also, to Mothra & Ryzi!: Your stories are so wonderful! Reading your works are what inspired me to start a fan fiction all of my own. I'd really appreciate it if you could find the time to read & let me know what you think. I've never published a FF before. Thank you & much love!

Making Memories Where None Exist

 

You shifted your weight in the iron chair. A light breeze fingered through your long dark hair. Along with the gentle caress, it carried the smells of freshly baked sweets into your nostrils. Eyes closed, you deeply inhaled the fresh aroma. It was enough to bring forth a rush of saliva. With a low grunt, you opened your eyes and satisfied your growling stomach with a drink of tea from the glass in front of you. The midmorning Columbia sun bore down on your fair skin, the small umbrella on the round table offering little shelter. You leaned back in the chair, and closed your hazel eyes again, savoring the peace and quiet. 

“I’m telling you, brother, I’m quite certain this won’t work.” You heard a very analytical female voice somewhere behind you. 

“ _Works, worked, and will work_ ,” a man with the same accent corrected her. “But this brings an entirely new variable to the experiment, don’t you agree?”

“ _Brings, brought, will bring._ And no. There are limitless possibilities, so undoubtedly this very scene has played out before.”

 “You know as well as I do that our new machine has opened new possibilities. What was impossible before-“

 “-is now possible. But then again, it always has been, hasn’t it?”

The conversation behind you was odd enough for you nonchalantly attempt to catch a glimpse of the couple. But as you looked over your shoulder, you saw only a young woman reading a paper, and the overweight man who owned the café. _What a peculiar Monday._

You stood up slowly and stretched, desperately not wanting to return to your cubicle at the _Columbia Times._ It was so dreadfully boring. It would be different if you were allowed to actually write something. You had a special talent for putting your pen to paper, and letting your very soul flow through the ink. But, unfortunately, you were stuck as a grammatical editor… 

* * *

 

“Mr. Carson, I greatly appreciate the offer, but I really feel as though I have more potential with the journalist position that you are offering.” You clenched your hand in the hem of your skirt, indignation boiling inside you. It took every bit of self control not to lash out at the repulsive man before you. He was very heavy, with his facial features distorted and exaggerated by the weight of his own flesh. Red color flooded his cheeks, and small droplets of sweat were visible along his receding hairline. Judging by the sound of his breathing, he was smothering on his own chins.

“Ms. [Lastname], a job of that caliber is most certainly more than what you could handle…being a woman.” He chuckled under his breath and looked at you much the same way you looked at a child who said they were going to be an astronaut; with condescension and pity. “But please, with your English degree, we would love to have you working behind the scenes.”

 _Of course, you fat sexist scum ball. Put the woman in the position to handle all the labor, and get zero public recognition. I’ve killed men whose spit had more character than you_

“Very well then. I shall accept the position.” Swallowing your pride and anger for the sake of normality, you had taken the job.  

* * *

 

And a year later, the monotony had nearly driven you mad. Sure, it was calm and safe compared to your previous line of work, but you weren’t happy. You were stuck in a mediocre position simply because you were a woman. But just a few years ago, you had been the Pinkerton’s number one assassin. Funny how life worked.

Of course, wasting away in a small cubicle in a stuffy office building was better than reliving the horrors that you had seen. And caused. With a deep breath, you pushed the dark thoughts away and started on your way back to work. It was only about a block from the café. And with the beautiful scenery of the golden floating city, it seemed even closer. You had barely turned the corner when you caught the voices again.

 “Today is the day, sister.”

 “I do believe you’re right. But only time will tell.”

“Or will time not tell?"

“Shut up.”

This time you were fast enough to catch sight of source of the odd voices. They were a set of redheaded twins. They were nearly the same height, and were both outfitted in a tan suit jacket atop a brown vest and green tie. The only difference you could see was he wore brown pinstripe trousers, while she bore a skirt. The two of them were watching you, a look of bemusement on their faces. Unsettled, you quickly looked away and hurried to the Times building.

The building looked the same as every other one in Columbia- tall and stately with gaudy accents of architecture. The only difference was the large sign that said ‘Columbia Times’. You had begun to hate the place almost as much as you hated Mr. Carson. It was a festering hole full of racists, sexists, and a few decent people who were trapped because of societal roles. With a groan, you pushed through the heavy wooden door and sneered your nose at the smell of hot paper and ink.

“Ah! [Firstname]! Good thing you’re back. Mr. Carson would like to speak with you.” Maybelle, the receptionist greeted you cheerfully as always. You were quite certain that the two of you could be close friends, if she wasn’t so timid. She agreed with you that the inequality was atrocious. But she would rather keep her mouth shut and her hands busy. You still liked her bubbly personality, but you couldn’t help but glare after receiving that wonderful bit of news. You’d rather hang from the skyline by your hair.

“Thank you, Maybelle.” You smiled halfheartedly and her and gritted your teeth as you started towards Mr. Carson’s office on the second floor. _I wonder what Mr. Chauvinist Pig_ _has to complain about today. Did I miss a spelling mistake? Or perhaps it was punctuation? No. That’s ridiculous. I don’t miss errors. He purposefully looks for things to pick apart to feel powerful._ Heat flooded your face. In the fourteen months that you had been working with the Times, every meeting with Mr. Carson had simply brought you closer to quitting. And today, you didn’t have much patience.

You sucked in your breath as you reached his door. _I’m sure this won’t end well._ You gripped the bronze handle and gave it a twist, stepping inside the room with a fake look of curiosity. You could feel your stomach turn as you the stuffy atmosphere hit you. All around the walls were clippings and photographs of his own achievements. He even had a large paperweight engraved with ‘ _Columbia’s Best Boss’._ It had been a gift from himself.  

“Maybelle said you would like to see me, Mr. Carson?” You kept your voice light and polite while snarling on the inside. He was looking especially disgusting today, with small sweat circles apparent under his pudgy arms. His business jacket was off, displaying his tight suspenders. Your stomach turned and he met your gaze and smiled. If he kept that up your tea would be coming back for another visit.

 “Yes, yes, Ms. [Lastname]. Please, have a seat.” He gestured at the two leather chairs in front of his desk with a fat hand. You took a seat tensely, ready to fight or vomit at any moment. He crossed the office behind you.

 And locked the door.

 Alarms went off in your head. _He’s going to fire me._ Adrenaline began to flood your system as you started thinking of arguments why he couldn’t take your job. Even though you knew it would be futile. You clenched your fists as you watched him walk back behind his desk. But he didn’t sit down.

 “Ms. [Lastname]… Or, can I call you [Firstname?]” You bristled but kept quiet. “I’m certain you remember that journalism position that you wanted last year?” His voice was nearly as greasy as the hair that he had left. Your lip fought to curl into a snarl.

 “Yes…” you said cautiously. What was he getting at? He had never been the slightest bit decent to you. And there was absolutely no reason for him to start now.

 “Well, I’m not sure if you’re aware, but the position is now back open. And if I knew you _wanted it_ bad enough, then I would be more than happy to give it to you.” He locked his gaze with yours and reached down to his belt. With a fat smirk, he slipped open the buckle.

 “ _Mister_ Carson!” You yelled as you rose to your feet. At six feet tall, you were not easily threatened. Rage filled you to the brim and your heart rate climbed to a dangerous level. “There is NO position, in ANY company, that would justify any sort of relation with you!”

 His smirked turned to an angry frown. “Come on, you whore. Don’t you know you’ll never get anywhere in this city unless a _man_ decides so?” He reached across his desk and grabbed your left wrist. “Now do your damn job!” He started pulling you towards himself and slid his other hand up the hem of your skirt.

 *Fiercely, you tore your arm towards the inside of his grip, breaking the hold and slipping through his fingers. With the other arm, you swung back and landed an elbow directly beneath his beady eye. He fell to the ground with a grunt, covering the injured side of his face. You slid across the top of his desk and leaned over him.

 “Listen, you fat pig,” you hissed. Every inch of your body was vibrating with fury. “You have no idea who I am, or what I can do. I think I’ve had about enough of your unwarranted superiority!” You struck him with your other elbow, evening out the damage to his face. With a bellow, he leapt to his feet and closed his sausage hands around your throat.

 *You didn’t panic; you had been in this situation many times before. You jerked your chin towards your chest, loosening his grip and returning the airflow to your body. You swung both arms up and around, slamming your fists into the crooks of his elbows. His arms fell to his sides and his eyes widened with surprise and anger.

 *You grabbed his ears to pull his head down and brought your knee up simultaneously. His nose connected with a sickening crunch. Blood immediately began to pour. Your body moved mechanically now. After all, it was trained to do this.

 He toppled backwards, grunting with agony. You looked quickly around the room. With a devious smile, you snatched the heavy glass paperweight. You raised it above your head and brought it crashing down onto his face. He cried out again, trying to shield his large face from your blows. The blood multiplied, and to be honest you weren’t sure where it was coming from. Again and again you struck, yelling through your gritted teeth. You felt small warm spatters of blood sticking to your face. His arms fell limp to his sides. You stopped, the adrenaline flooding out of your system and leaving you feeling heavy.

 With a thunk, the paperweight fell to the floor. You looked down. Your long fingers were soaked in blood, as was your dark blue skirt.

 “Aha, it seems as though you were correct, brother.”

 You whipped around to see the twins from earlier. They were standing at ease in front of the door.

 “How did you get in here?” Your panic rose as you prepared to grab the paperweight again.

 “How did we _not_ get in here? And wouldn’t a more prudent question be _when?_ ” The female answered you calmly. You gritted your teeth.

 “Please, let’s not talk about us. The more interesting party in this experiment is you, [Firstname].”

 You looked incredulously at the man. “How do you know my name? Who are you?” You clenched your sticky hands, breathing in the smell of copper. You idly wondered how long it would be before someone from the office came running. You were certain they heard the commotion.

 “Which question would you prefer I answer? I’m afraid you’ll need to choose just one, as we don’t have much time.”

 There was a knock at the door.

 “Mr. Carson? Ms. [Lastname]?” Maybelle.

 “We have plenty of _time,_ brother. Just not here.”

 “Very true. But, [Firstname], we have a proposition for you.”

 You would almost rather run out into the office and let everyone see you soaked in Mr. Carson’s blood, than continue to listen to these two. “What is it?” you asked breathlessly. You were beginning to tremble.

“Well, you see, we need another variable for an experiment that we have been carrying out. And you fit the description quite nicely.” The man answered you.

 You gestured to the bloody mess around you. “What about this?”

 “That will be no matter. Where you are going, things will not be the same.”

 Another, frantic knock at the door. “Hello?!”

 You looked at the odd twins. They both had their hands extended towards you. “You can get me out of here?”

 “Of course.” They answered in union.

 With a gulp, you stepped forward, and placed one of your hands in each of theirs. The entire earth pitched forward, and an unbearable buzzing sound filled your ears. You tried to cover them, but neither of the twins would let go of you. Instead, they dragged you forward. The color seeped out of the world as you stumbled ahead.

  _What have I done?_


	2. Interdimensional Travel and a Makeup Case

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Yay! A second chapter!  
> Okay, this one is a little teensy bit shorter than the first, but it's going to hit you hard with information.  
> Like ohmygoshmyheadisgoingtoexplodeandihatephysics.  
> If you think that was hard to read, try coming up with the explanation to this unique situation in the story. XD
> 
> Anyways,   
> onward!
> 
> [Booker ETA: Chapter 3 <3]

You looked wildy around the room. Judging by the style of the building, you were still in Columbia. But something felt very wrong. The twins stood calmly in front of you. They looked at you with curiousity, instead of the fear you expected since they had witnessed you bludgeon a man to death.

 “If you ask me, he had it coming,” the woman comforted you.

 “Had, has, will have.” The man said lightly.

“Who in the world _are_ you?” You couldn’t take the time to think about everything that had happened. It was intensely overwhelming. 

“We are Robert and Rosalind Lutece,” the woman answered you. The continued to watch you, and there was an awkward pause.

“Is that supposed to mean something?” You didn’t mean to sound hateful, but you weren’t exactly in the mood for mind games.

“Not to you. We are not from your dimension.”

You scowled. “Pardon me?”

The twins looked at each other and sighed. “Let’s get you cleaned up, and we’ll give you a more thorough explanation.” Your heart sank as you looked down at your blood-soaked clothes. You nodded and followed Rosalind to a bathroom. She gave you a fresh towel and change of clothes and left you to clean up.

Walking over to the sink, you ran water over your dark red hands. Seven years ago was the last time you had been covered in blood like this. Powerful feelings of regret and sorrow rushed forward to choke you. Biting your tongue was the only way you could keep from crying. You had to prevent it, because if the floodgates opened, you might never gain control of yourself again.

A good scrub in the claw-footed tub gave you time to clear your head. _That nasty son of a bitch was going to rape me. And protecting myself was all I could do._ That sounded nice in your head, but your conscience knew that beating him down would have been plenty. Killing him was unnecessary.

The clothes that Rosalind had left you were a perfect fit, a soft white top and a scarlet skirt. You allowed your hair to dry naturally, with it falling halfway down your back in dark waves. To your shock, Rosalind had also brought you your makeup case. _How in the world did she get this?_ You looked at yourself in the mirror and a small laugh escaped your lips. _Freaky portal-opening twins take me to ‘another dimension’ after watching me smash a man’s head in, and I’m curious about how she got my bloody makeup? Ha! Maybe I am insane._ Shaking your head, you threw a little bit of makeup on before returning to the Luteces.

They were sitting down at a small table together, drinking tea and discussing something about flipping a coin. They smiled up at you as you approached, and you returned it weakly.

“Please have a seat, and let us fill you in on the details of your little journey,” Robert said warmly.

You nodded and took the empty seat at the table, trying to reign in your focus and open your mind to what they were going to tell you. Rosalind handed you a cup of tea, and you were happy to have something in your hands to ground yourself in reality. Well, whatever reality was left.

“You have just completed inter-dimensional travel, via a tear.” Robert began.

“A tear is a fluctuation in the fabric of space time. Through them, with the help of our machines, we are able to travel to any place and any time that has, does, or will exist,” Rosalind continued. It was very interesting to you, how the twins regularly took turns talking, and finished the conversation seamlessly.

“For example, you are in Columbia still. But this is not the Columbia that you know. In _this_ Columbia, you have never existed.” Your brain was beginning to ache.

“We have never before been able to cross over dimensions like this. We have traveled through alternate _realities,_ but spacetime is actually much larger and more complex that we initially thought. We have recently discovered that dimensions fall in layers.” You could hear a fascinated tone in Rosalind’s voice. You would be fascinated too if you weren’t afraid your skull was going to explode from the rush of knowledge.

“And, now that you’re here, we need your help. We have an experiment that we have run… quite a few times. Although there are different realities of the outcome, the end result is always the same. There have always been constants and variables.”

“But by introducing you, we have discovered that all the other variables weren’t really variables at all. They are more like constants. They never, ever depart from the path that they have been set on. But you are a true variable. You completely re-write all the choices from the moment you set forth into this world.”

“Okay… so let me get this straight. These… ‘variables and constants’ are like… vigors? You can either have salts or not, but the vigor remains the same. But I am… like a new type of vigor?” You knew that was wrong, but you were trying to break it down in some analogy that hurt your head a little less.

“That’s an interesting way to put it, but not exactly. You are like a vigor that may or may not need salts to recharge. You are unknown and untested, and the universe cannot predict what you will do. Any because you are the _only_ you, your actions will have dramatically unique effects on everything you do. You will sort of annihilate all other vigors.”

“I am the only me?” Okay, so the vigor analogy had made it worse.

“For every choice every made, the reality that you are in multiplies. A new reality is created based on each of the _possible_ outcomes, regardless of which one you actually choose. For example, there is a reality out there where you did not kill Mr. Carson.”

You shuddered at the thought of what he would do if you did not fight him off…

“But since you do not belong here, the universe cannot make new realities based on your choices. It doesn’t have the building blocks available in this dimension to do so. Therefore, the reality that you are in will override all of the others, and possibly cause them to collapse.” Rosalind sounded genuinely interested in this idea.

“What happens then?” Collapsing realities didn’t sound like something you wanted to mess with.

“We don’t know. Hopefully not a full collapse of the space structure.” Robert looked at you solemnly.

“Oh, don’t be ridiculous. You know as well as I that the spacetime fabric is too large and too flexible to be collapsed by this.” Rosalind argued. You could tell that Robert wasn’t so sure.

“Right. Well, good thing I didn’t have any family left. What sort of experiment am I participating in? I’ll have you know that I do NOT tolerate needles.” You were serious. You’d rather march back to the reality with Mr. Carson’s corpse on his office floor.

“No, no needles. This is a slightly less scientific experiment. We need you to assist a man that we have hired. The two of you must retrieve a young woman from captivity. Any other details will be given to you along the way.” There was a hint of vagueness in Robert’s voice that bothered you a bit. But then again, it may simply be the inter-dimensional travel.

Rosalind rose and walked to the counter. She retrieved a large wooden box and placed it on the table in front of you. “I took the liberty of gathering your gear before we departed, “ she explained. You gulped as you opened the box. The last time you had used any of this equipment, you had slaughtered innocent people… You pushed the thoughts away and began sifting through it. After all, you had a job to do, and you now owed the twins your life.

Inside were several items. The first was a SkyHook. It was custom made to fit your slender arm without chafing. The metal was brushed silver, and a phoenix, just like the one you had tattooed on your back, was carved into the mahogany part of the handle. It was the last gift your parents had sent you before their death. Your throat tightened again and your eyes threatened to overflow. You clipped the hook to your waist and pushed through to the rest of the contents.

There was a full Murder of the Crows bottle. You had already absorbed all of the available vigors, but the Crows were your favorite, and so you had kept it for salt supply. You twisted the lid from the bottle and downed the contents. Hotter than the strongest whiskey, the fluid burned down your throat. You made a sour face and gritted your teeth as you felt your skin ripple with the charged power. It had been a long, long time since you were ready to use your vigors. You tossed the empty bottle back into the box.

There was a small health pack in the box, and you slipped it into the pocket of your skirt. You never knew when you would need it. There was also a handgun, swaddled in a purple swatch of silk. You unwrapped it carefully. This very gun was the reason you had quit working for the Pinkerton’s. You couldn’t count the number of people you had brought down with it. And while you had abandoned your former life and searched for normality, its cold familiar weight felt far too comfortable in your hand. It was still loaded and ready. Never forgetting its purpose, and never pretending to be something it was not. Perhaps you could learn a thing or two from your pistol.

Grimacing, you slid the firearm into your tall black boot. There was a special made holster inside the leather to cradle your weapon. You righted yourself and looked back to the Luteces. “So, who is this man that I’m going to help?”

The twins smiled at you, obviously curious about the events to come. “His name is Booker Dewitt. You are to locate him and assist in any way that you see fit. The only rule is that you do not tell him who has sent you.” Rosalind said. As if tracking down some strange man and getting him to allow you to be his partner wouldn’t be hard enough, let alone with you having to act as though you’re not a hired gun.

“Well, what am I supposed to tell him, then?” You frowned at the twins. Nothing seemed to come easily with them.

“First, you must head to Raffle Square. There will be a window of opportunity for you to present yourself as an ally without seeming suspicious. You will find that the two of you have quite a lot in common,” Robert answered.

“Right-o,” you said sarcastically. “Could I get a physical description to go by?”

“Be on the lookout for the number 77.” Rosalind stood as she spoke. “And take this money. It will come in handy. You can’t expect to rely solely on a pistol.” She handed you a sack of silver eagles.

“Thanks,” you muttered. Yeah, free money was a good thing. But you had a darn good pistol! No reason for her to talk negatively about it. You tied the coinsack around your belt and looked up.

The twins were gone.

“Fabulous.”

 


	3. Number 77

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I can't thank Ryzi and Mothra enough. Your encouragement makes things go so much quicker!
> 
> Secondly, BOOKER IS HERE!  
> Maybe you fight some bad guys and kick some tail.  
> Maybe you find out some more about your history.  
> Maybe Booker is delicious. lol. ;)
> 
> Thanks so much to everyone who reads!

Scowling, but not entirely surprised by the disappearance of the Luteces, you mentally prepared yourself to exit the building. You were more eager to fight than you wanted to admit. It had been a long time since you had played the role of fighter and assassin. But, judging my the run-in with Mr. Carson, you weren’t the least bit rusty. Just like your gun and your Sky Hook, you were designed with a purpose… and boy, was it hard to be something you weren’t. As your feet hit the stone street, you wondered what could be so important about some girl that the twins would travel through _dimensions_ to ask for your help. It was hard to imagine anything being that spectacular. And working alongside a man… that was sure to be a blast! Only not really. You had never worked well with men. They were all too busy arguing with you over why you should be in some other profession to actually help with anything. You rolled your eyes. 

The sun tingled pleasantly on your skin, and you tilted your head back to enjoy the rays. But as quickly as good feeling had come, it disappeared. “What in the world…” You were aware that you were talking to yourself out loud, but you didn’t especially care. Out in the center of this Columbia was a massive golden angel. She stood many stories high, with her wings and arms both outstretched. You had never seen anything like it. Okay, so this Columbia was just a tad bit different. And by a tad, a WHOLE FREAKIN’ LOT. You heart rate doubled, and panic clawed at your mind. You swallowed hard and looked down. _If this world is **that** different I might end up lost. Good God._

Bewildered, you took a left and began towards the fairgrounds. Well… where the fairgrounds were in _your_ dimension, anyway. You forced your feet to keep moving while the fear began to subside. You carefully observed the scenery. Thankfully, nothing else seemed amiss. The farther you walked, the more relieved you became. The people looked about the same. The architecture was unchanged, and all of the buildings, aside from the massive angel, were where they were supposed to be. The only differences were very subtle. The shoe store that you often shopped had a blue sign, instead of the red that it proclaimed in your world. But those size differences you could handle. _If this is a dream, and I wake up from it, I’m going to see a therapist._

You continued along the cobbled streets. Now that the initial shock had worn off, you felt a prick of curiosity for this new world. As you neared the fairgrounds, you noticed a large wooden sign standing in the middle of the street. There was a fiendish looking hand with the letters ‘AD’ carved into its flesh. The sign read, ‘ _You shall know the false shepherd by his mark!’_ You laughed a little and made a mental note to look out for this ‘false shepherd’. He didn’t sound like the sort of fellow you wanted to share your tea with.

A few more minutes of walking and you had reached the Square. There were quite a few people gathered around the stage, milling around excitedly. You rolled your eyes. If you could trust what happened in your world, the Hate Raffle, as you called it, was about to take place. Everyone would choose a number, and hope to get the opportunity to throw the first ball at someone less fortunate than themselves. Most of the time it was black folks, but twice you had seen them beat children to death with baseballs. It was absolutely barbaric. And it made your stomach turn.

Unwilling to participate, you slunk over to the benches at the edge of the square and sat down. It would be nice to see your ‘assignment’ coming, so that you could analyze him before he laid eyes on you. A good look at someone could reveal a lot about them. Couple that with your habit of observation, and you usually knew within the first thirty seconds how you were going to feel about someone. Scouting him out here would be difficult, though. The square was filling with people and they were all shoving each other to get closer to the stage. _The twins could have at least told me what hair color I was looking for. I mean honestly._ You folded your arms, decidedly grouchy.

In less than five minutes, and the announcer was on stage. He was a sharply dressed man with an annoying voice and even more irritating mustache. They were starting the raffle. You slowly stood up and approached the edge of the crowd. Rosalind’s words echoed in your head, ‘ _Be on the lookout for number 77.’_ You began to look at everyone’s baseballs. 45. 36. 19. 4.

“And the winner is, number 77!” Your eyes snapped to the announcer. The curtain lifted behind him. A white man and black woman were shoved forward. Their hands were bound behind their backs, and the woman’s face was shining with tears. Mock wedding music played as large painted monkeys swung forward on the set. It took everything in you not to leap onto the stage and free them in that instant. You looked to find the winner of the raffle, since the crowd had parted near the center. A tall man stood at the lip of the stage, holding a baseball with uncertainty. You noticed how defined his jaw line was, and the pleasing way his brown hair fell to the side. His arms and shoulders were broad and strong. Even through his clothes you could make out the outline of his muscles. But as he pulled his arm up to throw the baseball, he lost every ounce of attractiveness to you.

“I’ve got somethin’ for you, you son of a bitch,” you heard him mutter as he turned to throw the ball at the announcer. Your face split into a smile.

An officer caught his hand, but not before the ball left his grip and slammed into the announcer’s face. You felt an immense rush of pleasure as the man clutched his nose and dropped to his knees.

“It’s him!” the officer yelled. The announcer climbed back to his feet, holding a bleeding nose and shaking with rage. The officer brandished the back of the man’s hand to the announcer. The announcer was sputtering with rage. You tried to make out what he was saying, but the suddenly crazed crowd made it impossible. A few people ran, and others shoved and cursed to clear the area. A blonde haired man stepped into you hard, sending you reeling onto the ground.

Before you could get back on your feet, there was the whirring of a Sky Hook, followed by wet sounds and screams. The rest of the people scattered out of the square. You managed to climb to your feet. The raffle winner stood near the stage. The body of two policeman lay at his feet. _Well. I suppose that must be Mr. Dewitt._ You could hear more policemen on their way.

“He’s over here! Get him!” They were headed your way from around the corner.

You ducked to the side and waited for the policemen to come running down the stairs. As soon as they were within reach, you leapt towards them and swung your hook at their faces. As the three hooks spun, they sailed through skin and bone with ease. _Good thing I kept this thing sharpened._ Two men fell from your assault immediately. The third advanced towards you, striking at you with a billy club.

You stepped back quickly, dodging his blows. While his balance was tipped forward, you landed a swift kick to the man’s ribs. He doubled over with a groan, and you slammed your spinning Sky Hook into the back of his head. Crimson flooded over your hooks, and he hit the ground. Once he was down, he didn’t move.

You straightened yourself and looked at Booker. His body was still in a fighting stance, but his jaw was slack as he watched you. You felt a small smile creep onto your face. _Yeah, that’s right, Mr. Dewitt. I just saved your hide. And we haven’t even spoken._ But you didn’t have time for that. Right now, you needed to escape.

“There’s more officers coming, I can hear them! The quickest way out is through that gate!” You motioned forward with your bloody hook. “Come with me!”

Booker hesitated for a split second, but a bullet whizzing by helped him make up his mind. He bent down and grabbed a gun from a fallen officer, while you reached into your boot and retrieved your own pistol. You fired quickly, causing the approaching authorities to duck into cover. You spun around quickly and dashed through the gate. Booker kept pace right behind you.

You rounded the corner and darted up a narrow alley between shops. Your lungs burned, but it was exhilarating. Adrenaline coursed through your veins. You hadn’t felt this alive in.. years! Booker followed as you dashed through the narrow spaces between the stores. Left, then right. Another right. Straight ahead past four stores and then another left. The yelling in the distance was barely audible, and you knew that you were losing the police. You ran about another block, and came to an abandoned shop in one of the oldest parts of town. A few months ago in your world, you had edited an article about the closed shop. Smiling through your heavy breaths, you located the back door. There was a lock and chain securing it, but no one was around. With your Sky Hook, you slammed through the lock and pushed the door open. Booker stayed right behind you.

Once inside, you relaxed. The building was just the same as you remembered. A thick layer of dust covered the floor. The air smelled musty and heavy. Tables, chairs, couches, and desks still filled the room. Booker closed the door behind the two of you. You felt your heart jump a little, but you laughed at yourself. You should be more worried about being shot, not shut in an empty building with a handsome man. Shouldn’t you?

“What the hell was that?” You couldn’t see Booker, but you could feel that the question was directed at you. He was still slightly out of breath, and the sound of him panting distracted you for a moment.

“Do you mean that dreadful raffle? Or have you never seen a woman fight before?” You leaned against the wall and slid to the floor. Your breathing was almost normal, but your brain was still buzzing. 

“Both, actually,” he chuckled lightly. He voice was so rough, and yet so warm. You were pleasantly surprised by his lack of hostility.

“You’re not from Columbia, are you?” You laughed. Only someone from the mainland wouldn’t know about the raffle.

“No. This is my first visit, actually. What a doozie.”

You smiled, now able to see his outline in the darkness. He had his hands on his knees and was leaning against the wall. “Well, since Columbia is founded on racism and inequality, every day they hold a ‘raffle’ to punish some poor undeserving soul; usually because of their skin color. And the lucky ‘winner’ gets to be the first to throw a ball at them. Then, the rest of the barbarians will join in, until whomever they were taunting is a bloody mess that has to be scraped off the stage and placed in bags.” You knew you could’ve said it a little more lightly, but it was a despicable act and you didn’t want to sugarcoat it.

“Bastards,” he mumbled. His fury gave you comfort. He didn’t approve of it either.  “Are you from here?” He sat down, too, leaning his head against the wall.

“No, not really. I’m from-“ _do NOT say another dimension!_ “I’m from the mainland too. I just, uh, visit here sometimes.” _Smooooth. What kind of idiot forgets where they’re from?!_ But if Booker noticed your cover, he didn’t acknowledge it.

“Why did you help me?” You could feel him looking at you hard. Your eyes were adjusted enough now that you could see everything in the room. He could most likely see you too. And he was probably watching with scrutiny.

“Because… you did the right thing. You clobbered that despicable auctioneer, instead of those innocent people. …And I didn’t want my Sky Hook to get rusty. It needs to be used every so often.” _Oh, and also, a set of time traveling twins wants me to help you with some experiment. Please don’t shoot me for being crazy._

“Where did you learn to fight like that?” The awe and curiosity in his husky voice flooded you with pride. And also made you a little bit tingly. You looked at him. He was only a few feet away and your nose picked up on a hint of cologne. You cursed in your head. Couldn’t you ever get an easy job?

“Would you like me to bring you my diary?” You didn’t want to be snappy, but you weren’t prepared for this barrage of questions; especially when you couldn’t give him the full answers.

“Sor-ry,” he huffed. He stood up and walked around the room. He ran his hand through his hair. He approached the counter and rested his hands on it. You could hear him sigh, and his head hung a little lower.

Feeling guilty for shutting him down when you didn’t know anything about him, you climbed to your feet and restarted the conversation. “So… what’s your name?”

“Booker. Booker Dewitt. And you?”

“I’m [Firstname] [Lastname]. Pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dewitt.”

“Well, after seeing you save my hide like that, I’d hope that you would call me Booker.”

“Alright, Booker. What brings you to Columbia?” You walked closer as you talked. Even in the dull light his eyes were shockingly handsome. _Easy girl. Maintain course. You’re helping this man, not marrying him._

“How about I just give you my diary?” He snapped. Looking at him straight on, you saw a glimmer of sadness in those handsome eyes.

You exhaled forcefully. “How about we trade some information? You tell me what you’re doing here, and why the police hate you, and I’ll tell you why I know seventeen ways to get you on your knees… _unwillingly_.” _Oh goodness, MOUTH! I didn’t authorize that!_ You were convinced your own tongue was out to get you into trouble.

He laughed, thankfully disregarding the possible innuendo that had fallen out of your mouth. “Seventeen? That’s impressive.”

“Exactly. So remember your tone around me, Mr. Dewitt.”

He made eye contact again. Your breath hitched as he locked his gaze and held it with yours for a couple seconds longer than necessary. Blood supply to your head lessened.

“Booker.” He relaxed his stiff posture a bit and gave you a smile.

“Okay, _Booker_.” You grinned back at him. His lips looked full and warm. You wondered what it would be like to touch them. _FOCUS, girl!_

“Well, since I owe you one, I’ll start.” His words brought you back to earth. “I have acquired some… debt. It’s my own fault and I know it. But I have been hired to go take this girl from Monument Island. If I can return her to New York, they’ll forgive my debts. And it’s not like I’m doing anything particularly useful nowadays, so I figured what the hell.”

“Interesting.” You tried to act surprised about the news of the girl. Although, you were earnestly curious as to what kind of debt he had gathered. But you figured it would be best not to ask. “Well, a deal’s a deal, Booker. I was an… eliminator.” You struggled finding a word.

“An assassin?” There was a tone of awe and curiosity behind his question. You had expected skepticism.

“Well, I was trying to use a more delicate word, but yes. Spying and ‘reducing’, as they called it, were my primary functions.” You focused on keeping the dark memories pushed away, but it was becoming increasingly hard with the recent events. The worst fear that you had was enjoying what you did. And today, it didn’t bother you as much as you wanted it to.

“You _used_ to be. What happened?” He looked earnest enough, but you couldn’t tell if it was general curiosity or if he was prying.

“I made regrettable decisions in the line of duty,” you answered shortly. You maintained your outward composure, but your inner wounds were beginning to reopen.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. It’s just… that sounds a lot like my own story.” For a second, the raw emotion and vulnerability in that statement made you want to throw your arms around his neck and bury your face in his shoulder. You could hear the Luteces again… _“You’ll find the two of you have quite a lot in common._ ” You wanted to spill it all, in that moment. You wanted him to know that you were a lethal killing machine that had chosen _not_ to spare an innocent family and their two children. You wanted more that anything to finally be able to let the truth out and relieve the burden you had been carrying for the last seven years.

But no. Not here, not now. Probably not ever. You grimaced. But knowing that he would understand your story made you feel a lot better. Regardless of the assignment that the twins had given you, you wanted to help Booker. People like the two of you didn’t get true friends all that often. And you vowed to do what it took to get him through this. If you couldn’t have relief, you could help him get some. The two of you made eye contact, and you would have sworn he was beginning to lean forward. But you coughed and stood up straight, nervous, excited, and determined.

“Well, Booker, you still didn’t explain why all the police want your head on a platter.” You hoped steering the conversation towards current events would lighten the mood and remove some of the tension.

“Ah, that’s a funny story, actually. These people think I’m some damned ‘False Shepherd’. I’m here to ‘lead their lamb astray’. From what I can gather, the ‘lamb’ is the girl I’ve been sent to capture. So it’s likely that whoever it is that hired me has alerted these people that I’m here. And that could mean that they’re either trying to make me _really_ work to get my debts paid, or they’re trying to get me killed.” 

“Well, Mr. False Shepherd,” you laughed. “I didn’t know I was in the company of a celebrity. There are billboards out there just for you, did you know?” The two of you laughed warmly.

“What can I say? Would you like an autograph?” His posture was completely slack now, and his smile made your heart flutter. You brought yourself back to earth.

“Well, I have a proposed course of action. If they know you’re here, they’re going to be on high alert near the girl. What do you say we spend a couple of days gathering weapons and supplies? We can let the authorities relax a little, and we’ll infiltrate at night. Did anyone survive who saw your face?”

He considered your idea for a moment. “I don’t see how that could be anything but good. I’d like to find some heavier artillery than this pistol. And it will make our lives much easier if we can slip in unnoticed. As for witnesses, between you and that hook, I don’t think anyone can identify us.” You could tell by his tone that it was a compliment. You curtsied sarcastically. His handsome face split into a genuine smile. The momentary joy in his eyes was enough to light up the dark room.


	4. The Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, my lovely readers! First off, let me apologize for my extended hiatus. I have a few health problems, and I've been very overwhelmed with real life lately. My senior year in college is getting ready to start, I've been working my butt of trying to get the wheels rolling on my business, I've been working on a RP website, and to be honest I sort of forgot about this for a little while. I would have updated sooner, but I couldn't get my muse going for some reason. :(
> 
> Anywho, I really hope that you can forgive me for being such a horrible terrible no good sucky failure. 
> 
> And, my feeble attempt at apologizing lies below, in a better-written and longer than usual chapter (getting back into roleplaying has definitely sharpened my writing skills).  
> _________________________________________________________________________________________________________________
> 
> BUT NO MORE DELAYS  
> HAVE SOME MORE BOOKER  
> AND A LITTLE ARGUMENT  
> AND A SUSPENSEFUL ENDING  
> AND MY UNDYING LOVE <3

You rolled over on the couch that you were sleeping on. You were still groggy. But even through your sleepy stupor, you knew something was wrong. Every muscle in your body stiffened and you held your breath. The tiny hairs on the back of your neck stood at full attention. It was as if something was watching you, approaching you in the thick darkness. Slowly and cautiously you extended your hand into the shadows. A ripple of heat bubbled down your arm as you called forth a small bit of Devil’s Kiss to light up the room. 

A police officer stood mere inches from your face. As your eyes fell on him, the air rushed out of your lungs. His bottom jaw was missing entirely. All that remained were strands of skin and sinew dangling towards the floor. His blackened tongue fell slack from what was left of the lower portion of his face. Small rivulets of blood raced down the swollen muscle and spattered softly onto his uniform. The right side of his visage was carved with deep gouges, exposing the pale white gleam of his skull. An irritated left eye spun wildy in its socket, but the right was gone. A deep wet hole had replaced it. You opened your mouth to scream as he brought a pistol to your forehead. 

“[Firstname]! [Firstname], wakeup!” Your eyes flew open. Illuminated by a grubby oil lamp across the room, Booker was standing over you, gripping you by the shoulders and holding your body in a near-sitting position. Concern was etched across his brow. Heart pounding, you looked quickly around the room to make sure the policeman wasn’t really there to enact his revenge. Now that you were awake, you realized that the shredded man as one of the officers you had fought earlier. Your breaths were shallow and rapid, and it took several seconds for you to even remember falling asleep. (Booker had been rifling through the drawers and shelves of the store looking for anything useful. Crashing from the rush of adrenaline, you had laid down on one of the abandoned couches to rest your eyes.) Booker released your shoulders and ran his fingers through his tousled hair.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered, looking down. This wasn’t the first time you had dreams like this... and you were certain it wouldn’t be the last. You were so efficient at fighting. And killing. But it felt like it dissolved some of your humanity every single day. And still, you did your job- merciless and mechanical. Who’s to say you had any humanity left at all?

“Are you all right?” He sat down gingerly on the edge of your couch, rustling you from your thoughts. A five o’clock shadow darkened his sharp jawline. His voice has a residual softness to it, but you couldn’t be sure if it was sincerity or if he had fallen asleep as well.

You laid back down, wiping the cold sweat from your forehead with a slow exhale. Your breaths were coming more regularly now, although each beat of your heart knocked against your ribs. “Yeah… bad dream. I’m just glad no one heard me.” You tried to play it off as if you weren’t deeply shaken, rolling your eyes in mock annoyance. 

“Yeah, they’re a pain in the ass. I think I’d rather never dream agai.” You raised your eyebrows and clasped your gaze onto Booker. He was staring blankly down at the floor. You wondered what in his past could to make him say that. But then again, hadn’t the same thought crossed your mind more than a of couple times? You dismissed the negative thoughts and focused on the flow of your breath.

Through the grimy window, you could see the deep inky blue mass of the night. From the city in the sky, the moon looked as though you could reach out and jump onto it. Stars that were larger than life peppered the darkness, sparkling down at you. “Ad astra, per aspara,” your voice was a whisper, and at first you didn’t realize the words were in the air instead of your thoughts. 

“I hope you’re not casting a spell of some kind.” You could tell Booker was joking, but his course voice had no laughter in it. He looked ragged. Exhausted. A small pang of pity hit your stomach.

“Um, sorry,” you cleared your throat. “It’s something I learned in college.” Again your eyes dropped from his handsome face while a rush of heat flooded your cheeks. It was bad enough that he was still sitting on your bed, but now you sounded like a fool. You could feel his eyes move to you, but your kept yours pointed to the window.

“You really went to college?” There was a hint of incredulity through his words. Hesitantly, you drew your eyes from the window and met his gaze. His features were soft and earnest. Just when you had gotten your panic response under control, your heart skipped a beat. The emotional roller coaster he was strapping you on was far more stressful than the nightmares. At least you knew how to handle _them._

“Yes. I graduated with honors. I have a bachelor’s degree in English,” you replied flatly, setting your lips so that a foolish smile wouldn’t crawl onto your face. Somewhere inside you were still proud of your degree, especially since graduating college as a woman was somewhat of a rarity. But you also knew that in truth it was just a sad attempt at redirecting a life of hired violence. An attempt that obviously hadn’t worked. Normal people don’t bludgeon their employer to death with a paperweight, after all. 

“Hmm.” The strum in his vocal chords sounded impressed. You felt your chest expand a little with pride. “What does that phrase mean?” He avoided your eyes as the question entered the atmosphere, and you were relieved. His stare could cut into the deepest parts of you. And you hated being vulnerable. 

“To the stars, through difficulties.” For your capstone course you had been required to write an essay on the Latin phrase that meant the most to you. The translation being similar to a little nursery rhyme that your mother had sung to you, the phrase was perfect. Sometimes those simple words were all that kept your hope alive. It was an ember deep within your chest that you could rekindle when the weight of your life overwhelmed you. Unfortunately, you felt some of that hope deflate when he didn’t reply. Instead he looked straight ahead, leaving you to chew on your lip.

 _He must think I’m an idiot… So what?!_ Your independent nature flared suddenyly. _Why does the approval of this man mean anything to you? You’ve never needed anyone in your life. And you certainly don’t need to start now._ You set your jaw, drawing your brows a bit closer with premature determination.

He stood and stretched his neck, keeping his back to you. “No one can reach the stars.” He stepped away from you and melted into the shadows. You slid your tongue between your incisors, putting as much pressure down on the soft muscle as you could stand. The painful sting directed your attention away from the hot feeling in your eyes that preceded crying. The pain had come swiftly, rolling into the anger that you had already been feeling. The two emotions crashed together violently and stirred a sick feeling in your stomach.

With a huff, you climbed to your feet, wobbling a hint from the vicious nightmare. Your hair was a wreck, and you spent a few seconds combing the tangles out of its length with your fingers. Next you strapped on your SkyHook, checking that your silver eagles and salts were still in your possession. You couldn’t see Booker, but his voice drifted out of the shadows and betrayed his position.

“Little bit late for a stroll, don’t you think?” His words were cold and snide as they met your ears. You clenched your jaw and slipped your eyes behind their lids. Inhale. Exhale. Eyes open. Speak.

“Well, Mr. Dewitt,” you almost hissed his name, “I have no intentions on battling the Columbia police force, and God knows who else, with only my hook and a pistol. While both of them are invaluable, and should have proven their worth to you by saving your life, I would feel a bit better knowing I had something else for a backup. So I am going to the Police Station. It’s late, they’ll have most of their officers out looking for us, and they certainly won’t expect an attack at their headquarters.” You kept your voice even colder than his, feeling the sting of ice as it left your lips. Without waiting for a response, you gripped the handle of the door and tore it open. 

The air was bracing as you stepped into the alley. The skin on your arms rose in goosebumps as a breeze sifted through your thin shirt and clung to your skin. Grumbling incoherently, you made your way cautiously down the street. Your thoughts were a torrent of humiliation, indignation, and rage. _Just who the hell does he think he is? Why should he get the luxury of dissecting my favorite phrase and turning it into a pity party? ‘No one can reach the stars’. A scoff rushed through your lips. NEWS FLASH, DEWITT: you’re not the only one who’s ever done something you regret! And if you don’t have the willpower to keep forcing through, and at least TRY to look for the positive, then you don’t deserve your happiness anyway, in my opinion. Nothing is given to us. We have to work everyday to make any headway in this insane world. You take what you can get and you live with the choices that you’ve made. That’s life, buddy. And gorgeous or not, you’ve to deal with it._

By the time your inner monologue was finished the heat of your anger had largely subsided. You were almost at the police station, and the task at hand was much more pressing than whether or not Booker appreciated your metaphor about the stars. Narrowing your thoughts to the immediate future, you continued on. You slid through the alleyways silently. Like a jungle cat, your movements were smooth but powerful and ready to explode with action at any second. Within moments, the entrance to the station was in your sight. 

You peeked around the edge of the building, holding your breath until your lungs whined for release and the letting the air hiss out slowly. Rough brick scraped across you cheek as you flattened your form against the building. There was one officer standing in the yellowed light of the street lamps, leaning against the entryway to the station. With a forceful inhale, you held your hook behind your back and removed yourself from the cover of the shadows. Clearing your throat, you unearthed the best acting you could.

“M… Mister officer?” You intentionally stumbled, giving a small gasp of ‘pain’. You knew that you were in enough light that he could make out your outline, but not much else. You coughed. “H…Help… I…I’ve b-been attacked…” The sounds died in your throat as you slid dramatically to the ground, holding yourself up with one hand and obscuring your hook behind the other. 

Of course, the man started in your direction, quickly. “Hold on miss. I’m coming.” You felt a pang of guilt as he approached you, the memories of the shredded officer flashing out at you in the dark. This man’s worry was sincere. Your mind raced as he grew closer, your time frame for decision-making melting away. How could you get in without hurting him? Hadn’t you spilled enough blood today? He was mere feet from you when a tingling jolt of Shock Jockey cracked forward from the palm of your hand. It blasted him directly in the chest, crackling loudly and illuminating his face with an eerie flash of blue. He stiffened and twitched before puddling on the ground. You quickly climbed to your feet and stood over him. He was breathing, but definitely out. Relieved, you began dragging his body into the shadows. And lucky you, he had a key ring. 

Once the man’s body was tucked away from sight, you stood in the shadows for a moment and gathered your resolve. Now that you were about to march into a fully-stocked police station with one gun, a sky hook, and some vigors, you sincerely wished Booker was by your side. Asshole or not, situations like this were always safer when completed in numbers. But he was several blocks away and you didn’t have time to dick around. This job needed to be completed before the changing of shifts. One last breath and you started forward, moving swiftly but silently.

You had decided beforehand that the best course of action would be to enter through the back door. So you skirted around the brick building, tossing cautious looks over your shoulder periodically. You found the heavy steel door easily, tucked away in an alcove in the stone. When your hand found the handle, you were surprised that it was unlocked. One last breath and a swallow, and you ducked into the building. 

It was dimly lit with a stale smell that reminded you, unfortunately, of the Columbia Times building. Fighting another rush of nausea in your gut, you tiptoed through the corridors. The place was eerily void of life, and you chuckled a little on the inside when you thought about the entire Columbia police force out searching for you and Booker. Wouldn’t they be surprised to come home and find you in their headquarters? _Might as well call me Goldilocks. Except I plan on having my hands on their carbines, not porridge._ A small smile lifted one side of your mouth. 

After a few minutes of searching and backtracking, you saw a small sign hanging in the hallway. ARMORY. “There she is,” you whispered. Sliding along the wall, you peeked around the door frame. One officer was stationed there, but judging by his hat pulled over his eyes, and his feet on the desk, he was going to pose no threat. Calling forth another jolt of Jockey, you flung the electricity at him and watched while he fell unconscious.

The armory was quite literally a wonderland of weapons. Carbines, Snipers, Shotguns… and more ammo than you could probably ever shoot. A wide grin cracked your face as you grabbed a COLUMBIA POLICE ENFORCEMENT dufflebag and started shopping. You grabbed a selection of weapons, and as much ammo as you could carry. The weight of the bag bit into your shoulder, but you were far too excited to care. 

“FREEZE.” Your heart stopped, blood turning to ice in your veins in a split second. “Put the bag down, and turn around.” You swallowed as you allowed the bag to slide down your arm, feeling the vibration next to your foot as it hit the floor. Your skyhook was strapped to your waist, and so useless. Your only hope was that you had enough left in you to give him a blast of Shock Jockey. You pivoted slowly, not as fearful as you probably should have been. After all, wouldn’t death be a relief? 

The officer was young, probably even younger than you. His hands shook as he held the gun at arm’s length. You idly wondered if he had ever even fired the thing. Your breaths came in and out slowly, eyes locked with the pale blue ones carved into the policeman’s face. But then, in your peripheral, a dark flash. Then the room was alive with feathers, crows screeching as they tore into the officer’s skin. He yelled, attempting to cover his face at the expense of his arm. Then there was a bang, followed by a high-pitched scream in your ears. A flash of hot pain somewhere on you, but you couldn’t tell. Electricity vibrated from your hand and the room fell dark. Silent. 

Nothing but the stars.


	5. Phoenix Feather

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Well, the police station raid didn't seem to end up too well for you, did it? But who was it that unleashed the crows?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> GUYS I'M SO SORRY  
> I know I've been so slow at updating this.  
> Ijust- ugh. I don't have excuses. I've got a lot of college work, but I should find more time for this.  
> So, I promise to do better. 
> 
> But here, have a nice juicy backstory!

You stood alone in a dimly lit hallway, with your body pressed against the wall. It was dark… sometime in the early morning, perhaps? What little moonlight that slithered through the windows was distorted by the grimy surface of the glass. Little speckles of dirt spattered shadows against the faded blue walls. It looked like blood. Swallowing hard to divert your thoughts, you shuffled silently towards the end of the corridor. Your pay was given per assignment, so the sooner you got through with your task for the night, the sooner you would be able to go home and try to erase your deeds. It was something you were not capable of, but nevertheless you attempted to drown out your sins in any way possible.

 

There was the distinct click of a doorknob being turned to your left. The flesh of your throat hitched as the sound echoed across the gloomy walls. Faint voices slipped through the crack of the door. “Oh, so you don’t want to go tonight? Well… all right.” Another deafening click as the door slid shut. You exhaled slowly and quietly, moving with fresh determination.

 

Three doors down you stopped, checking the apartment number. 214. That was it. _Eliminate everyone in the apartment, and remove any confidential files that you find. It is of ABSOLUTE importance that there are no survivors._ Your instructions echoed loudly against your skull. You didn’t ask questions when you were given your assignments. No, like some bloodthirsty but loyal hound you slaughtered your targets without hesitation. You made yourself sick.

  
Carefully you gripped the handle, feeling grounded by the cool feeling of the metal. You gave it a slight twist to test it. It was unlocked. _One, two, three!_ Like a venomous serpent you slipped into the apartment, ears yearning for any sounds. Nothing. Everyone was asleep. A tiny sigh brushed past your lips. Sleeping people were the easiest to kill. There was a short hallway to your right, probably leading to the bedroom. Mechanically, your body followed your orders, slinking in the direction of your targets. It hurt less if you didn’t think of them as people. After all, anyone with that sort of price tag on his or her head must have committed some major treachery to the safety of the country. You weren’t just any ole assassin.

 

The first of two rooms had a cracked door, and so you tiptoed towards it first. There was a couple sleeping together. Another hard swallow and you forced youself forward, unsheathing your knife. The woman would have to die first. The man may be stronger and inherently more dangerous, but females could be light sleepers. And light sleepers, in your experience, turned into screamers.

Two quick strides and you were at the bedside, crouched in the shadows like a predator. The woman was sleeping face down, one arm draped across her husband’s chest. There was a painful thud in your ribs but you pushed through. There were no room for emotions in the workplace. Isn’t that what they always told you? You carefully hovered your blade over the back of her neck. One swift strike and it would be plunged into her brain. Your breath was shaky.

The metal was so sharp that it didn’t even make a sound entering her skull. The blood came quickly, but you were already moving to the man.

 

Since he was laying on his back, you decided that the best course of action would be to slit his throat. There could be no hesitation in your muscles, or you wouldn’t be able to cleave both the esophagus and the jugular at once. That was necessary for noise prevention. But of course it was almost habit for you by now. And the delicate skin of his neck offered little resistance to your honed dagger. His eyes fluttered open as soon as the gaping wound was painted into his body. Two hands shot to his throat, but there was nothing they could do. It was over. You straightened yourself, sliding your blade across the bedsheets to clean the scarlet liquid from it.

 

“Mommy?” Every drop of blood in your body turned to ice. Painful crackles of electricity snapped through your muscles, urging you to turn. But you couldn’t. Turning around would mean you would see this innocent child, whose parents you had just butchered. And then… you would have to kill her. Your pistol was at your side, outfitted with a silencer. That would have to do. _I can’t stab her, I’ll get too close._ Your knuckles were white against the handle of your gun. _You’re going to kill a child._ No hesitation. Muscle memory. _No survivors._

 

 

 

BOOKER DEWITT:

“Damn that woman!” Booker huffed with agitation, half jogging through the moonlit streets. He had had no intention of allowing you to actually head to the police station on your own. But after the little ‘spat’ between the two of you, it seemed as though you had vanished into thin air. He hurried through the shadows, trying to be as silent as possible given his pace. But he felt smothered by the feeling of anxiety and hopelessness. He knew next to nothing about Columbia, whereas you lived and breathed the blueprints of the city. Booker came to a gradual stop, grinding his teeth together. _It’s hopeless. I ain’t gonna find her._ As if to mock his pessimistic attitude, a gentle sound drifted across the night wind and delivered itself to his ears. Footsteps. They were light and determined. _That’s gotta be her._ A satisfied smirk curled itself across his face before he dashed off in the direction of the sound.

 

He finally spotted you, with your body pressed to the corner of a building. He was quite some distance away, and just before he opened his mouth to call for you, he noticed the office in the distance. Clamping his mouth shut, he waited to see what your plan was. When you hit the ground, exclaiming in despair, his first instinct was to rush forward and help you. But he steeled himself and decided to be patient. _No, that’s gotta be part of her plan. She’s a smart woman._ And sure enough, before he could react, you had decommissioned the young officer.

 

An impressed smile rolled onto Booker’s face. He decided to hang back, watch you work. _I’m close enough now that I can help her if anything goes wrong. So let’s see what this girl is really made of._ Something about your power and determination sent his heart fluttering. In fact, he had to stifle a chuckle as you dragged the unconscious man to the shadows. While borderline irritating, your determination was also endearing to the roughened man.

  
He tailed you into the police station, laying back far enough that his presence would remain unknown to you. He slipped through the corridors like a jungle cat, with each movement full of power and grace. But somewhere, he lost you. Maybe you had backtracked and turned a different way. Maybe he had. But there was a flicker of panic building in his chest. Who knew how many officers could be stationed in here? Of course, most of them would be out tonight. But that didn’t mean there weren’t enough left to cause some problems. He let out a shaky exhale and retraced his steps.

 

A couple of minutes later the sound of footsteps reached his ears. But these were heavy and determined, not like the light sound yours had made. He flung himself against the wall, holding his breath captive. When the officer did not come in his direction, he pulled away from the bricks and decided to follow the sound. Only moments afterwards he spotted the man, heading down the hallway with his weapon drawn. Booker felt his throat collapse when he looked up and spotted a sign dangling from the ceiling. ARMORY.

 

The officer stepped into the room before Booker could catch his breath. “FREEZE!” Booker stood helplessly, willing his legs to move but unable to find the ability to do so. Then there was a snap within his mind and he rushed forward, thrusting his hands out to prepare the Murder of Crows. _No._ He rounded the corner and spotted the young officer, with his gun directed at your heart. A sudden rage and desperation roared to life, releasing the crows with force he had never known before. As they began to shred the officer he caught sight of your face. You were calm. Beautiful. Brave. But he feared he would never get the chance to tell you how much he respected you, when the gun went off and you crumpled to the ground. _NO._

Overcome with nausea he dashed into the room, ignoring the gored body of the officer and falling to his knees at your side. He couldn’t explain the despair and responsibility that threatened to steal his breath away from him. Frantic green eyes combed your body. A bloom of scarlet seeped from somewhere in your chest, but he couldn’t locate the bullet through your clothes. Inhibitions to the wind, he tore open the shirt and pushed away the blood. There was a small, dark hole in between your heart and collarbone. It looked as though it had avoided everything important, but there was a lot of blood leaking from your body. He quickly pressed his rough hands against the wound. “Now listen, you stubborn woman. I need your help. Don’t die on me.” _Everything is easy with you. Natural. Don’t take that away when we just got started._ He rested your body gently on the ground, dashing over to the desk to rummage for a medical kit. Luckily, he found one quickly.

 

He returned to your side and opened the case, grabbing a section of the bandages that were stuffed into the container. He lifted you up a bit, checking your back for an exit wound. _Good. Clean through and through._ But he was still nervous. Shaken. Uncharacteristically distraught. He wrapped you quickly, enough to stop the bleeding until you could return to the old furniture store. As he readjusted your shirt, he noticed something yellow on the right side of your collarbone. He pushed the sleeve down to reveal a giant phoenix tattoo, covering your entire arm and much of your shoulder. “Just who are you, (name)?” Shaking his head, he positioned his hands beneath your arms and scooped you up carefully. When you were cradled in his arms, he stooped to grab the gun bag before shuffling quickly out of the room. The fear in his heart made you feel light as a feather. A phoenix feather.


	6. HIATUS

This work is being placed on Hiatus until further notice. I'm going to have to reply Infinite if I wanna continue, and my class schedule is a little hectic for that! I WILL revisit this before too long, but for now I don't want any of my readers to be disappointed waiting.


	7. I'm baaaaaaack!

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So, SURPRISE!   
> Looky here, another installment of your adventures with Booker!  
> I think I've finally gotten my life on track, so although they may be slow I am officially BACK TO UPDATING THIS FANFIC. WOOOOOOOO!
> 
> This one is short, but I wanted to go ahead and post it so that my lovely readers would be prepared for the upcoming chapters. ^^ Again, I'm super sorry about the hiatus but it's over now and I'm ready to write!

You awoke suddenly, eyes snapping open and finding streams of golden sunlight filtering through the grimy window. There was a moment of relaxed confusion, where you wondered idly where you were and why you were sleeping so hard. But then a gasp left your dry lips as everything fell back onto you at once. The twins, Booker Dewitt, the police station… _The weapons!_ You jerked yourself upright quickly but found that a strangled cry of pain left your throat. Right below your left collarbone was an incredible pain that radiated outward into your chest. You could barely move your left arm. 

Nervous about the degree of damage, you pulled your blouse aside. Thick white bandages covered the entire area, with only a small bloom of scarlet to show where the bullet had entered. With a groan you shuffled yourself sideways so that you could lean against the back of the couch and take in the rest of the room. 

The dusty furniture told you that you were in the abandoned store again, and of course that meant Booker had to have carried you back. _And bandaged me too._ You felt your pulse quicken a bit but also gritted your teeth, unable to decide if you were frustrated because he’d touched you without permission or because you had been unconscious for it. Curious as to where the man was, you called out in the loudest whisper you dared. 

“Booker? Booker!” No answer.

Discarding the worry in lieu of hunger, you climbed shakily to your feet to search for any food. You made a surprised sound as you stumbled, catching yourself with your right hand on an old dining table. Man, getting shot could really take it out of you. Every muscle in your body was stiff and resistant to movement. With another frustrated groan, you shuffled forward farther. 

After a few moments you were by the back door that you and Mr. Dewitt had used to enter the building. Behind the heavy wooden counter was the COLUMBIA POLICE ENFORCEMENT bag. It was open, but appeared to have nearly everything in it that you’d gathered the previous night. Or was it the night before? How long had you been asleep? You growled in irritation. Where in the world was Booker Dewitt? He was the only one who could give you answers. 

“Perhaps we should have specified that your death would ruin any chances that the experiment has of succeeding?” You clamped your eyes shut as the voice met your ears, not even bothering to turn around. 

“Well, in case you haven’t noticed, I’m still alive. So so far, so good.” You forced yourself to wheel around as you spoke, the irritation evident in your flat tone. Surprisingly, both Luteces looked rather concerned and you felt suddenly sheepish for snapping.   
“Yes, for now. But we cannot give you a second chance since you do not belong in this dimension, everything-“

“Yeah yeah, I know. Unwritten history and variables and all that. I’m beginning to think that perhaps I simply went mad when in Mr. Carson’s office. Who in their right mind would just agree to interdimensional travel?” As you spoke, another flare of pain bit into your shoulder and you grunted. “Okay, not dreaming or insane. Hurts too bad.” You sighed and took a seat on another dusty chair. 

“Yes, well we are depending on you. Please be careful.” Rosalind wore a sincere smile as she spoke. You sighed again, defeated, and offered her a small smile in return. You let your eyes drift to the window, as if breakfast would magically appear. 

“Say, how about some food in this… joint.” You began to look back at them as you spoke, but both of the Luteces were gone. “Always with the disappearing.”

The sound of the door moving startled you, and as painful as it was you leapt back to your feet. Mechanically, your arm found your SkyHook, slipping inside and readying the weapon despite your weakened state. _The police. They’ve found me._ How many could you really fight off with one arm?

Booker eased past the doorway with his back to you, gently closing it behind himself as if he was trying to keep quiet. He held a sack in one hand and his other rested on the pistol on his hip. You relaxed immediately, surprised at how much better you felt with his presence. 

He turned around and jerked, startled by your proximity, no doubt. The expression on his handsome face quickly faded from surprise to stern disapproval. You would have crossed your arms in defiance if able. 

“What are you doing up? You should be resting, [Firstname].” 

“From one little bullet hole? I think I can manage.” Despite the defiance in your voice you lowered your SkyHook even further, suddenly noticing how heavy it was. 

Sighing, Booker stepped forward closer any gestured to one of the couches. “Please, sit?”

 Rolling your eyes, you crossed over to the sofa and sat down, pretending it wasn’t as nice feeling as it was. “Better?” You rose a brow at him as you reclined slightly, wincing with the motion. 

“Somewhat. Here. I brought you breakfast.” He closed the distance between you and sat gingerly on the couch, opening the brown sack. “I didn’t know what you’d like, but you need to get your strength up. The bullet went through clean but still, we’ve got quite the journey ahead of us.” He pulled an apple, a peach, two pastries, a donut, and two bottles of milk out of the bag. “You first.” 

You smiled softly at the gesture, feeling a ripple of guilt roll through your chest for leaving before. It was a foolish tactical decision, no matter how irritated he had made you. Pushing the thoughts away, you grabbed an apple, pastry, and bottle of milk. 

Booker began eating the rest of the breakfast while you started on your selections, and the two of you sat in slightly uncomfortable silence. Suddenly you both sighed and spoke in unison. 

“I’m sorry.”

 “What? You-“ He began. 

“No, you first, “ you countered. He hesitated for a moment but then flashed you a crooked grin before shaking his head and running his hand through his messy hair. 

“Look, I… I’m sorry about last night. I know I probably came off as a prick and it was unintentional. I’m just… not used to positive attitudes, I guess. Most of the people I speak to would rather just have another drink than think things will ever get better. Plus everything just seemed so… daunting here, not knowing where I am or why everyone thinks I’m some stupid ‘false shepherd’. I guess I should have been thanking you instead, cause I sure as hell never would’ve found this place without your help.” He looked away from you as he finished speaking and you wondered if you were imagining the hint of color in his cheeks. 

“I’m sorry too. I shouldn’t have stormed off like that, but I’ve never really worked in a partnered situation. I got carried away in the armory last night and I suppose that means I’m rustier than I thought. But thank you, Booker, for coming when you did. You very well saved my life.” You normally hated being sincere and open, particularly with men, but there was something comforting about knowing that Mr. Dewitt was willing to help you and do everything in his power to save your life. Especially when you barely knew him. 

“Well, try not to get shot anymore, okay? We’re low on bandages.” You scoffed reflexively but realized that he was fighting the urge to smile beneath his worn expression. Rolling your eyes again you allowed yourself to smile. 

 “I think I can manage.”


End file.
